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circumstances for the organization and everyone was chipping in. While she did have a hard-charging style, she was still a team player.
    “Hey, old man,” she said as Harvath stepped out of the courtesy vehicle.
    Old man? He might have been in his forties, but he was nowhere near “old,” especially when all of them worked for a literal “old” man like Reed Carlton. That said, she never missed a chance to needle him. He didn’t see himself as old at all and it grated on him when she called him that.
    “I brought you something from Africa,” he said without missing a beat.
    Suddenly, Ashby softened. “Really?” she asked with an almost childlike naïveté. “What is it?”
    “This,” Harvath replied, holding up his middle finger.
    Ashby laughed. There wasn’t even a hint of anger. She could admire a good joke, even one at her own expense and she never let it dent her ego. She was good at rolling with the punches.
    She was also good at sizing up people and situations. It was scary both in how bright she was and how rapidly she could analyze something and figure out what was going on. Harvath hated to admit it, but she was probably much smarter and quicker than he had ever been.
    “At least you have something to hang this on,” Sloane said, reaching through the window of her car and pulling out a garment bag.
    Harvath walked over to her. “Where’d that come from?”
    “This?” she asked, looking down through the opening at the top of the bag. “I think somebody mugged a pimp or maybe a TV weatherman.”
    “Very funny,” he replied, extending his hand. “How’d you get into my house?”
    Sloane lifted her right foot and executed a quick snap kick. “I used my size-six Manolo skeleton key.”
    Sassy . Harvath liked sassy. In fact, he liked it almost as much as he did Scandinavian flight attendants with scarves tied around their necks. But only almost . Sloane Ashby was not only too young for him; she was also a colleague. What’s more, Reed Carlton—who had very likely given her the key and alarm code for his house—had made it quite clear that he expected Harvath to maintain a strictly professional relationship with her. Someday she was going to go on to do some incredible things for their agency, even more than she already had for the country. By that point, God willing, she would be reporting to Harvath. The Old Man didn’t want any messy entanglements between them screwing up their performance.
    “If I get home,” Harvath said as he accepted the garment bag, “and find any of my Kool & the Gang records missing, there’s going to be hell to pay.”
    Ashby shook her head. “No one got near your phon-o-graph, grandpa,” she replied, drawing the words out slowly like she was speaking to someone hard of hearing. “No need to worry. E-v-e-r-y-thing is okay. Your Drool & the Gang will still be there when the bus brings you back to the home after bingo.”
    Now it was Harvath’s turn to laugh. Sloane Ashby was a wiseass and could give as good as she got. She reminded him a lot of himself at that age—cocky, and way too sure of herself. Even so, he enjoyed mixing it up with her. Because the Old Man had been so adamant about not getting romantic with her, Harvath looked at her like a younger sister and treated her accordingly.
    “Here,” he said, handing her the box with the SBJ model in it. “I really did get you something.”
    Sloane opened the lid, looked inside, and rolled her eyes. “Wow. What a guy. You really know what women want. It’s a wonder some girl hasn’t snapped you up yet.”
    “It isn’t for lacking of trying,” Harvath replied as he tucked the vanity kit under his arm, smiled, and then turned and walked inside the FBO to grab a quick shower and change into his fresh clothes.

CHAPTER 6

    T he staff of the FBO welcomed Harvath and after checking him in, offered him use of the facility’s shower, which he accepted.
    The steam from the hot water quickly filled the